Suspicion (20 page)

  "Sure. She was tall and slim, with long blond hair and beautiful eyes. And she was so damned believable. Except for me, I don’t think there was a cop in that room who didn’t believe she and Sean had spent the night together."

  "Thanks, Randy. You’ve been a big help."

  "What’s this about anyway? You’re not thinking of reopening that old case, are you?"

  "I might have to."

  Randy groaned. "Don’t go down that road, Mitch. Don’t get yourself tangled up with McKackney. The guy’s a powerhouse."

  "Maybe so, but I’m not Jarvis. I don’t cave in under pressure."

  After Mitch ended the call, he sat at his desk and stared at the chart he had sketched while he talked to Randy. In the center of the page was Sean McKackney’s name. Connected to it were three other names-Peggy Bertram, the girl Sean had allegedly raped, Mary Sweeney, who had provided Sean’s alibi, and Sander McKackney, who, according to Randy, had paid Mary Sweeney to lie. Over to the right, he had scrawled Gina Lamont’s name.

  His eyes still on the chart, Mitch picked up his pencil and slowly drew a connecting line between Sander McKackney and Gina Lamont. Somehow those two had known each other, or the senator’s name wouldn’t have been in Gina’s book with a question mark next to it. Had the call girl planned to blackmail him next? And if so, for what reason?

  One possibility was that Sander was a client and Gina had a tape to prove it. Another possibility-and by far his favorite-was that she knew about the phony alibi. At this point, there was no reason to suspect that Gina and Mary Sweeney knew each other, but the thought nagged him. Both had been models at the time of the alleged rape. Why couldn’t they have been friends? Maybe even close friends. Gina Lamont was in no position to confirm his suspicion, but Mary Sweeney was.

  Provided he could find her.

  His pencil stuck in his mouth, he pulled the Washington phone book toward him and started flipping through the pages. When he found the Carteris Modeling Agency, he smiled, wrote down the address on a piece of paper and stood up.

  It was time to put his theory to the test.

  The Carteris Modeling Agency, where Mary Sweeney claimed to have worked at the time Sean McKackney was arrested, was in a turn-of-the-century building on Connecticut Avenue, had a green canopied entrance and a uniformed doorman who informed Mitch that Carteris was located on the top floor. An elevator whisked him to his destination in six seconds flat.

  The receptionist, a perfectly groomed brunette with a British accent, told Mitch that Beatrice Carteris, the agency’s director, would be with him shortly.

  He spent the next few minutes admiring the walls, which were covered with oversize photographs of some of the most beautiful women Mitch had ever laid eyes on.

  "Detective Calhoon?"

  Beatrice Carteris was in her late fifties, trim and attractive. Dressed in a red power suit and matching four-inch pumps, she walked quickly toward him, a welcoming smile on her lips.

  "I’m sorry you had to wait," she said, offering her hand. "I had an unexpected crisis."

  "No problem." He waved at the walls. "I kept myself entertained."

  She gave a low, throaty laugh. "Beautiful, aren’t they? They’re my greatest achievement. All the young women you see here went on to become supermodels. I’m very proud of them."

  Mitch followed her down a long, yellow-carpeted corridor and into an elegant office decorated in the same buttercup shade. An antique white-and-gold desk stood in the center of the room. On it were a dozen yellow roses in a crystal vase, a telephone and several head shots of more beautiful women.

  After they were comfortably settled on a sofa, Beatrice Carteris folded her hands on her lap. "Now, what can I do for you, Detective?"

  "I’m looking for a young woman who worked for you in 1979. Her name was Mary Sweeney. I don’t have a picture, but she was tall, slender and blond."

  The agency director smiled. "Isn’t that odd? You’re the second person in the past six months to inquire about her."

  "Really. Who was the first?"

  "A young law student whose name I have forgotten."

  "Male or female?"

  "Female. She was a pretty girl with exceptional blue eyes and a beauty mark above her lip. She had the kind of face that would have photographed well, and I told her so, but she wasn’t interested in modeling."

  Lilly Moore again, Mitch thought. The girl had covered a lot of territory in a very short time. First Gina, now Mary Sweeney. "Were you able to help her?"

  "Not at first. You see, many of our girls take on pseudonyms, using them only for modeling purposes to start with, then adopting them as their legal names later on. That’s what Mary Sweeney did. She hated her name. Anyway, it took me some time, but I eventually found her file."

  "May I see it?"

  "Certainly." Beatrice Carteris walked over to an armoire and opened it up. "I don’t normally keep such old files in my office," she said, opening a drawer and flipping through it, "but when that young girl told me she’d be back, I decided to keep this one handy. I never saw her again, however. Ah, here it is."

  She came back to the sofa and handed Mitch a gold folder. "As soon as I saw her picture, I remembered her right away." She opened the file, took an eight-by-ten color photo from it and handed it to Mitch. "She came to us from another agency, although I don’t remember which one. I had such great hopes for her, but at the end of her first year’s contract, she said she didn’t want to model anymore and left us."

  Mitch was no longer listening.

  His attention was riveted-not on the girl’s beautiful face, but on the name under the picture-the name she had adopted. It stared back at him in big block letters.

  Gina Lamont.

  There was no doubt about it, Mitch thought as he stared at the photograph. The hair color was different, but the wide brown eyes and those cheekbones hadn’t changed. Mary Sweeney and Gina Lamont were one and the same.

  As he rode the elevator down to the lobby, Mitch decided to drive up to Baltimore to question Sean McKackney. Randy Vargas’s theory that Senator McKackney had bought his son an alibi didn’t seem so farfetched anymore.

  At Baltimore General where Sean McKackney was now chief of surgery, Mitch walked directly to the front desk, flashed his shield and asked to see the doctor. The nurse on duty told him pointedly that Dr. McKackney was in an important meeting and couldn’t be disturbed.

  "I suggest you tell Dr. McKackney that he can either talk to me here, right now, or at the police station in Washington, at my convenience. The choice is up to him."

  Less than a minute later, Mitch was shown into Sean McKackney’s office, where the doctor, looking very professional in an immaculate white coat with a stethoscope around his neck, was already waiting. Although Mitch had never met the senator’s son, he would have recognized him anywhere. He had his father’s imposing height, the

  same aquiline nose and that same arrogant way of looking at people he felt were beneath him.

  "You’re a hard man to pin down, Doctor."

  "Sorry about that." McKackney ran a hand down his tie and waited until Mitch was seated before doing the same. "I wasn’t trying to be difficult. It’s just that our nursing staff is about to go on strike and things are a little hectic around here." He smiled. "Now, Detective, what is this all about? Have I neglected to pay a parking ticket the last time I was in our capital?"

  Mitch ignored the sarcastic question. "Do you keep up with your hometown news, Doctor?"

  "Not as much as I’d like."

  "Then you may not know that a few days ago, a Washington call girl by the name of Gina Lamont was found murdered in her apartment."

  One corner of McKackney’s mouth lifted in a lofty smile. "I’m afraid that’s not exactly the kind of news that would catch my attention."

  "What about Mary Sweeney?" Mitch asked mildly. "Would that name catch your attention?"

  The smile slipped a notch.

  "She was your girlfriend at one time, wasn’t she? Pretty girl? A model?"

  "I remember Mary, Detective. What I don’t understand is why we’re discussing her. That relationship ended a long time ago."

  "I realize that. In fact, I’m told that it was a very short-lived relationship."

  The doctor’s eyes hardened. "What are you driving at, Detective?"

  "While investigating Gina Lamont’s murder, I learned that Gina’s real name, the name she was known under sixteen years ago, was Mary Sweeney."

  McKackney’s expression didn’t change. "Really."

  "I also learned," Mitch continued, watching him closely, "that at the time you and Mary Sweeney were…dating, shall we say, you were arrested for allegedly raping Peggy Bertram, a Mount Vernon College coed, and that shortly after your arrest, Mary Sweeney, alias Gina Lamont, came to the police station and claimed that the two of you had spent the night together."

  "She didn’t claim anything, Detective. She told the truth. And if you did your homework, then you know that I was exonerated."

  "Yet Peggy Bertram maintained you raped her."

  "Peggy Bertram was nothing but a vindictive bitch who had been after me for months and couldn’t take no for an answer."

  "Are you saying she decided to get back at you by accusing you of rape?"

  "And gain a little publicity for herself in the process." His tone turned cynical. "You did know that she was a drama major, didn’t you?"

  "Yes, that was in the police report."

  "That slut is lucky I didn’t sue the pants off her." McKackney almost spat the words. "If I hadn’t been with Mary that night, Peggy might have made the charges stick. My career would have been ruined and God only knows what a scandal like that would have done to my father’s future as a senator."

  "Hmm." Looking thoughtful, Mitch folded his arms. "Do you know what bothers me most about this case?"

  "I couldn’t possibly imagine."

  Mitch pretended not to have heard him. "What bothers me most is that you and Mary Sweeney broke up so soon after that incident. According to an acquaintance of yours," he lied, "you never saw Mary again after that

  day at the police station. Why is that, Doctor? She was a beautiful girl and obviously quite loyal. Why wouldn’t you want to continue the relationship?"

  Although the office was kept at a comfortable temperature, small beads of perspiration had formed on the other man’s forehead. "I don’t know. I guess she wasn’t my type after all." He leaned back in his chair in an obvious attempt to look relaxed. "Why are you asking me all these questions about Mary, Detective? What does her death, or rather the death of… What did you say her other name was?"

  "Gina Lamont."

  "Right. What does the death of Gina Lamont have to do with me?"

  "Gina had fallen on hard times. In order to survive, she felt it necessary to blackmail some of her customers. I was wondering if she had ever tried to blackmail you."

  He laughed. "Are you implying that I used her services?"

  "No. I’m suggesting that if the alibi she gave you sixteen years ago was false, if she lied to the police in exchange for money, that would make you an excellent candidate for blackmail, wouldn’t you say?"

  "You’re out of your mind!" McKackney rose, his face livid. "How dare you come in here and accuse me of God knows what? That alibi was legitimate. Mary came forward because the charges against me were a sham. I was the victim," he added, jabbing himself repeatedly in the chest with his index finger. "Not Peggy Bertram."

  "Are you denying that you, or someone in your family, paid Mary a large sum of money in exchange for that alibi?"

  "Of course I’m denying it. There was no reason to pay Mary off. I was with her that night. She was telling the

  truth." He shook his head as if baffled by the possibility that his word wasn’t enough. "I’m a doctor, for Christ’s sake. I save lives. I don’t end them. That’s what you’re suggesting, isn’t it? That I killed Mary because she was blackmailing me."

  Mitch grinned. "Since you brought it up, where were you at one o’clock on Tuesday morning?"

  McKackney’s face turned even paler. "You can’t be serious."

  "Where were you, Doctor?"

  He blinked furiously. "Home. In my own bed. And before you ask, yes, my wife was with me."

  Satisfied that the good doctor was sufficiently shaken, Mitch stood up. He had started the ball rolling. "Thank you, Doctor. I’ll be in touch."

  He was tempted to add, "Don’t leave town," just for effect, but didn’t. From the look on Sean McKackney’s face, the man had had all the excitement he could handle for one day.

  At the door, Mitch turned around for one final nod. Still standing, McKackney was holding his desk with both hands and glaring at him.

  Sean McKackney waited until Mitch Calhoon had closed the door behind him before allowing his shoulders to sag. The detective’s visit had hit him hard. Lucky for him he didn’t have a weak heart. The shock might have killed him.

  He raked his hands through his hair, forcing himself to calm down, to think of the situation in a rational, unemotional manner. Yes, Calhoon was a smart cop and he didn’t look like the type who gave up without a fight, but so what? There were ways to deal with cops-even the stubborn ones.

  Taking a deep, calming breath, he walked over to the window overlooking Baltimore Harbor. Five miles to the west, in an exclusive part of the county, was his home, an extravagant white Colonial he had purchased just last year in anticipation of the position he had been coveting for years-chief of surgery.

  And now that the position was finally his, he could lose it all-the lavish house, the new title, the seven-figure salary.